Not Playing with a Full Deck
by Ace Clark
Summary: Harley Quinn looked at the bloody mess she had made and laughed. How could she not? It had been absolutely hilarious. She crossed the name off of the list. It looked like she was on to the next one. A story detailing the daily life of Harley and her Joker
1. An Affair with Bozzo

**_Author's Note:_**

_3/02/08: The story has been edited and updated. No major plot changes have been added, so if you have already read the first four chapters, there is no need to reread them again. Readers just starting: count yourself lucky, you are getting the new and improved version...It happens to be much shinier._

**A huge thanks to Esther-Channah for her thorough and thoughtful beta!**

Up and down; the Joker's gentle breathing caused his chest to rise and fall. It was a steady, comforting rhythm for Harley as she lay in the bed next to him, head across that very chest; her pale, slender legs sprawled amidst the sheets. Morning's faint rays were breaking through the messily boarded windows, illuminating the dusty room in which they had slept. Harley sensed that it was morning, but she feigned sleep, reluctant to leave the Joker's side. It was a rare and valued occasion on those few nights when he gave into his primal needs and invited her to bed with him. Some nights he kicked her out, literally, when he was done with her. But not this night.

Harley smiled despite herself. She was optimistic for the day.

The Joker stirred in his sleep, and suddenly bolted upright in bed, causing Harley's head to fall into his lap. He looked down at her, surprised, and held his hand to his chin in thought. His eyes went alight with the memory of the previous evening.

Harley pouted. Was she that forgettable in bed?

He smiled down at her. She sheepishly smiled back, waving.

He then grabbed a fistful of her blonde hair, painfully bringing her head up to eye level with him. He threw her off of him with a violent push. She lost balance at the edge of the bed and fell over. The Joker tilted his head back in laughter.

"Oh Harley, I'm so glad that you're awake! Be a dear and make me some breakfast. Hopefully you won't burn anything this time…And ugh! Get dressed while you're at it!" He finished cruelly, wincing at the image of her naked before him. Harley's face turned red, and she quickly slid on her signature skintight red and black-diamond outfit. She haphazardly put her jester hat on while running out of the room, which resulted in it being tilted ridiculously to one side. She paid it little mind; Puddin' was in need of some breakfast. She worked quickly, humming an upbeat song as she danced through the kitchen, cracking eggs and frying bacon. The Joker emerged magnificently from his abode moments later, his eyes closed and his head held high in a kingly demeanor. His wardrobe consisted of nothing more than a tattered blue bathrobe, boxers, and Joker-esque slippers that had bells that jingled at every step he made. He sat down at the table and swept his bathrobe behind him. Harley then placed his completed breakfast before him on a chipped plate.

"Made just like you like, Mistah J!" Harley said was a smile. She took a seat opposite him at the table, her hands on her cheeks, looking expectantly at the Joker, as she waited for him to take the first bite. He looked down at the meal; scrambled eggs, several strips of bacon, and a stack of pancakes with the one on top adorned with whipped cream and a bright red cherry in the caricature of a smiling clown.

"Oh, now, Harley, you've outdone yourself! He has a smile!," he said in reference to the pancake. "Now that makes _me_ smile!" He gave her a toothy grin to prove it.

Harley gave a sigh of relief. This wouldn't have been the first time that her efforts were met with less than…enthusiastic results. She let out a girlish giggle.

"Oh, well thank ya MistahJ. You'd know I'd do anything for you." The Joker continued to give her his leering smile.

"What a relief to hear! Could you be a doll and get me some orange juice then? Can't have pancakes without the orange stuff!"

Harley's eyes opened wide as she realized the she'd forgotten.

"Oops, how silly of me!" she said as she got up. The Joker took the whipped cream covered pancake off his plate and began conversing with it. He held his ear close to its quickly melting mouth, as if listening to what it was saying.

"What's that you say? You think Harley's a swell girl? Do you hear that Harley, I think Bozzo the pancake clown likes ya! Well, I couldn't agree more Bozzo!"

He continued these antics until Harley passed him, giggling, on her way to the refrigerator. He then grasped the pancake in his hand and slapped it across her face, smearing her makeup and leaving a large sticky spot where it had hit her cheek.

"Oh, I think Bozzo likes you a little _too_ much, Harley! Look at that kiss he planted on you! Now, listen here pancake, that's my girl you're lockin' lips with!" Harley smiled at being called _his _girl. She bent over to get the carton of orange juice out of the back of the fridge. The Joker seized this opportunity to slap the pancake onto her left buttocks, where it sloppily stuck.

"Bozzo! Makin' a move on Harley are you?" The Joker yelled angrily. His face then drooped into mock grievance. "And here I thought we were friends." He then peeled the pancake off of Harley and surprisingly crammed the whole thing into his mouth. His cheeks bulged disturbingly. He chewed viciously and swallowed Bozzo's remains. He got up, leaving the rest of the food untouched. He waved his hand in refusal when Harley offered him the glass of orange juice.

"No, Harley, I'm sorry, but the scandal of this morning has caused my hunger to desert me. Besides! Today is a big day for us!" he said, rubbing his hands together. "There are threats to be made, stiffs to whack, and authorities to annoy. We're off!" And on that conclusion, he stormed back into his bedroom, his slippers jingling loudly, and his fist thrust out in front of him. He emerged moments later, fully dressed, fixing his bowtie and bowing graciously at the doorway. He approached Harley, and bowed before her, hand outstretched.

"Harley, my dear."

Harley brought her hand to her mouth to suppress her giggle, although it was still audible, and walked arm and arm with the Joker down the deserted apartment hallway. It wasn't until they approached the doorway that he stuck his foot out to the side, and Harley painfully tripped and collapsed. The Joker had a fit of laughter. Harley gave a weak chuckle from where she was on the ground.

"Oh, Harls, you are always good for a laugh!" He then strode out of the building without her.

"Wait Mistah J!" She attempted to yell after him. Her plea went unanswered.

She got up and ran after him, like she always had. Like she probably always would. After all, he was all she had left.


	2. A LoVe NOtE

The Joker handed Harley a small, carefully folded piece of paper.

"Be quick about this Harley." Night had fallen and the two lovers were snuggling in an alley after a long day of mischief. "Nothing you can't handle, right?" He grabbed her cheeks with one of his hands, a smile wide on his face, and peered intently into her eyes.

Those eyes; there was something in them now. Harley saw it. A glitter, a twinkle, the hatching of a plan. She was actually going to be a part of it. It all it had to do with this sheet of paper. She could not help but look away from the Joker's gaze. He merely laughed. Harley winced.

She moved to open the paper. The Joker painfully twisted her wrist.

"So eager, Harley? No, not now." He gently released his grip and wrapped his arm around her, whispering in her ear. "It's special. You won't lose it, will you?" he crooned with mock concern. "Besides, I wrote a little love note for you. I'll be too embarrassed if you read it in front of me, so you'll read it when you're alone, won't you?"

"Of course, Puddin'." She giggled while she slid it into her brassiere. _Oh, he's so romantic. _

"Splendid!" The Joker shouted with a high pitched squeal. "Oh, but butter biscuit, I'm gonna be awfully busy tonight." He began counting on his fingers the list of tasks that were in need of his attention. "I saw these _wonderful _edible whoopee cushions in _Laugher's Digest_ yesterday, and I just have to have them! Ugh, and I promised myself I'd catch up with The Riddler. You _know_ how he gets without me; I'm all that keeps him sane! Oh, and before I forget, I've got a few…skeletons in my closet that I need to bury. So you're going to have to handle this on your own, okay?"

"But wait, Mistah J, I don't even know what I'm doing. What if Bats shows up and I need help?"

"Like I said, Harls, its nothing you can't handle! See ya in the a.m." He gave her a sly wink and walked off down the alley, waving one hand back at her, his other in his pocket. He rounded the corner and was gone.

Harley looked around for any bystanders, even though it was verging on midnight. Now was as good a time as any to find out what the Joker had planned for her. Finding that she was sufficiently alone, she leaned against a brick wall and unfolded the paper, reading it in the glow of a nearby streetlight. It was hastily written, the letters constantly alternating between upper and lower case. She squinted to read it.

The love note, if it could be called that, was on the top of the page:

RoSeS aRe ReD

ViOletS ArE blUe

HarLeY, iF yOu ScReW ThIs Up

IM GoInG To KiLL YoU

YoUrS AlWayS,

JoKeR

There was a graphic doodle of him strangling her by the neck in the upper right hand corner of the page; the Joker smiling and Harley with 'X's for eyes.

_He's so artistic!_ She read the ending once more. _Yours always…_She held her hand to her chest. The Joker always knew exactly what to say.

Below the poem was the heading 'Party Poopers' followed by almost a dozen names, some of which were added to the end as what seemed to be after thoughts. The Joker had been so kind to include the likely locations where the members of the scribbled hit list could be found. Harley sighed. Even she had to admit that this wasn't what she was expecting; an entire hit list before tomorrow's breakfast. But what the Joker wanted, he got. She gave the names one last looked and tucked the paper back into her uniform. She was going to work from the bottom to the top, starting with the last name scrawled onto the list, a certain 'DAnnY RoSEwEll'. The Joker had written a side note next to his name, "ClOwN WoRkiNg The PiEr…UnFoRtunAtelY foR HiM, hE CoUldN'T mAke Me LaUgH".

Harley climbed up an apartment fire escape, giving herself some distance for a running start on the roof. She flexed her legs, arched her back, and sprinted off the building, twisting in the air and landing gracefully on top of the adjacent building. She moved swiftly, twirling through the night air over the crevice of each building, her muscles fluidly moving along her acrobatic routine. She was an angel moving amongst the stars.

She headed towards the would-be-clown's apartment.


	3. Who Wants Candy?

Harley touched down lightly on the cement roof. She was here at good ol' Danny boy's apartment building. She dusted herself off, wanting to look her best for the occasion, and sprang over to the roof service entrance. The red rusted door was locked securely, safely guarding the stairwell behind it. Harley pouted in disappointment; normally these doors were left unlocked and served as an easy entrance for her and Joker. However, after an entire week of breaking and entering to plant laxative-filled banana cream pies in residential refrigerators with her Puddin', Harley assumed that the building superintendents had finally caught on to their game and upped security. She shrugged; this was not an obstacle. Harley took a running leap, arched her leg back with all of her force, and propelled her foot into the center of the door. The weak rusted hinges snapped and the metal door clattered loudly on the ground. Harley winced; perhaps she should have thought that through better. Regardless, she danced her way down the opposite stairway, humming a tune while she sauntered into a whitewashed hallway filled with closed and rejecting doors. She was looking for an apartment number twenty-one, and she skipped from door to door, checking their faded bronze numbers, until she found it at the end of the hall.

She knocked politely on the front door, and brought her hands behind her back, waiting patiently for an answer to the door. She was met with silence. She knocked again, energetically rapping her knuckles against the fake wood-grain. Still no answer.

"Ugh! I don't have time for this!"

Harley was moving to kick the door in, when the illustrious Mr. Rosewell opened it. Her foot smashed into the front of his face and he fell over backward, yelling in pain.

"Oops…Hey, Mistah, you are 'Danny Rosewell', ain't ya?" The man continued to moan in pain. _If this is any indicator, it's gonna be a long night_. She grabbed him by the shirt and slapped him across the face.

"I said, 'Are you Danny Rosewell'!?" He nodded. Harley dropped him to the floor and surveyed him closely. His eyes were wide with shock and fear; blood was flowing profusely from his newly broken nose, staining his clean-pressed white shirt. He had a clean-shaven and youthful face and was of a stringy, lanky build. Not the balding and overweight forty-year-old that she had been expecting.

Harley could already tell, however, that he must not be a very good clown. She had always been good at profiling the personalities of others, and the man before gave off one of the misanthropic variety. He was more-or-less an unfriendly asocial 'twerp'.

Harley shrugged, _I can see why Puddin' would want him dead. Disgrace to clowns everywhere. Time to get this over with. _

Having left her mallet at home, her normal weapon of choice, Harley took off her shoe and began shaking it violently. Nothing came out. She wormed her hand into it and pulled out what she had been looking for: a small cellophane wrapped candy. Taffy from the looks of it. She slipped her foot back into the shoe. Danny looked quizzically at her, his hand over his still-bleeding nose.

"Do you see any pockets!" She yelled at him. "Actually that would be a good idea…'Note to self: add pockets'…Anyway, you've been a bad clown!" She wagged a finger at him. "So here's your candy!" She tossed him her special gift and he instinctively caught it. Harley stomped her foot as she waited for the man to eat it, but he merely stared dumbly at her, confused.

"You just aren't going to make this easy for me, are ya? Let me help!" She charged up to him, and sat down onto his stomach, knocking the air out of him. She stayed there for a second and looked about the room. It was all very organized, clean tidy, on the verge of being immaculate. She shuddered; it was damned scary. _Time for a new coat of paint!_

"Open wide!" Harley grabbed the candy from the man's hand and forced his mouth open. She didn't even bother unwrapping the candy, she simply stuffed it down his mouth and nearly choked him. When he started to gag, Harley punched him in the stomach and down the candy went. She scrambled off of him and waited expectantly. The seconds ticked slowly by; nothing. Nothing seemed to want to go right. She approached the man again, ear in hand, waiting for any indication that it was working. Still, nothing. Dan panicked, jumped up and ran about his perfect room in fright.

"What the hell you'd do!? Is it poison? Oh god, what do I do!?"

"Stop!" Harley yelled. He stopped and stood still. "Listen…" She held her hand to ear again. She heard the distinctive gurgle as the candy hit gastric acid and clapped her hands with glee. The man fell to floor in sudden pain, tears streaming down his cheeks, convulsing sporadically, saliva foaming on his lips. He grabbed his hair and let out a horrible scream. Harley laughed maniacally as she put her fingers in her ears and ducked. Then it happened. A muted pop. A simultaneous splatter against the walls. A bloody splatter landed at Harley's feet.

"Boom!" She laughed.

Harley surveyed the newly reddened room once more; _Much better._ The blast had left the apartment an utter mess, just the way she liked. Harley noticed a sinewy coagulated slosh of Danny's remains on her shoulder and discretely brushed it off, letting it fall with a sickening plop on the wooden floor. She laughed and walked out, politely shutting the door behind her, to hide her newly made masterpiece.

Exploding candy. Not all that original, but effective.

Either way, that was one down.


	4. Joker Approved!

"He's late." A man's voice, crude and gruff.

"When isn't he?" A woman's, an edge to her words, her high, lyrical voice tainted by a whiff of arrogant smugness.

"He'd better show."

"Has he ever not?

"Yeah, well, I'm tired of waiting."

"Aren't you always?"

"God, stop answering me with damn questions…"

The woman laughed at this, a lifeless laugh devoid of genuine warmth; a laugh that made the man shudder and shuffle uncomfortably in his shoes. She scared him, although he could never admit it. What was it about her? Her angular, sharp features? The full, well-rouged lips? The disconcerting smile she occasionally flashed when she caught him staring at her? Those piercing all-knowing eyes? He shook these thoughts off. He was tired of questions. He let the subject drop from his mind, leaned against one of the stacked crates in the warehouse, and lit a cigarette.

The woman glared menacingly at him. She hated the toxic smell, but the man, aware of this fact, kept inhaling the noxious fumes, ignoring her indignant stare and enjoying every second of it. He exhaled loudly from his nostrils, letting the tendrils of smoke to visibly spiral and float upwards in the hazy yellow light. He raised his eyebrows, aggravated, when the woman proceeded to loudly tap her stiletto on the cement floor. The echo bounced loudly off of the walls, filling the room with noise. It seemed that two could play this game.

And so the two of them stood in the empty warehouse, one of them exhaling as much smoke as he could humanly manage, the other creating a hypnotic swell of noise as she repeatedly clicked her shoe against the floor. Together they stood in mutual irritation, but neither one dared to say a word. It was better to wait in silence than to admit discomfort.

The woman coughed as she inhaled smoke. The man winced as a new intensified wave of taps assaulted his ears. It seemed to them as though time was on a continuous loop, each minute exactly the same as the one before. It was enough to drive a person mad.

But then a new sound broke the monotony. A crisp, clean noise noticeable even above the clacking of shoe on floor. It was clapping; slow rhythmic clapping. The woman abruptly stopped her foot mid-tap.

"He's here."

The man ground his cigarette out with the heel of his shoe. The woman watched in disgust. The clapping accelerated, and grew louder. There he was in all his dapper glory, approaching across the threshold. Everything was in place: the purple slacks and matching overcoat, the slicked-back hair, the perfectly aligned bow tie, and of course, the unsettling and ever present smile.

The woman approached the Joker as he neared them, wanting to complete this transaction as quickly as possible. She had work later, and as she was a headliner, the club owner expected her on time. The only reasons she helped deliver these little shipments were because she was in need of the money and driving a cargo truck was something she actually knew how to do. She left the actual unloading of the boxes to the man.

"Everything is in order, so let's just get this over—"

"I get all dressed up just for the occasion, and you want to leave already? I'm hurt!" The Joker said breathless with disappointment. "Come now, that simply won't do! We should make a celebration out of this! I simply do not see you two enough!" He ran up to the woman with arms wide open, offering a hug. She simply glared at him. The Joker frowned, but smiled even more widely when he spotted the man leaning awkwardly against the stack of crates. The Joker grasped him firmly in both arms, giving the man a hug whether he wanted one or not. He felt the man attempt to break contact. The Joker's smile grew wider on his face while the woman watched with disdain.

The Joker ruffled the man's hair and stood in front of the woman once more. "Well I see that someone is a hurry." He bowed down and tapped the woman playfully on the nose, which caused her to recoil backwards, almost tripping over herself in her haste to move away from him. She hated even the thought of being touched by him.

"Well, where _are_ my babies?" The Joker asked with an eager clap of his hands, ignoring the woman's response. "I have been waiting for them for what seems like ages."

"It's been three days." The man said matter-of-factly, moving to light another cigarette. The Joker shrugged.

"I've never been a patient man."

"We've noticed," the woman muttered. The Joker refused to even acknowledge her. She spoke directly to him this time. "You've been testing _our _patience by making us wait this long. We've been here since eleven o'clock."

The Joker turned and stared directly at her, his smile beginning to look forced and tight. He then looked at the imaginary watch on his wrist. "Well frankly, I've no idea how long that means you've been waiting! And to be honest, I don't know really care!" The Joker laughed. "But no, really, I'm glad you stayed. That must mean that you really care about your Uncle Joker!" He paused and looked over them. "Or that you'd know what I'd do if you hadn't?" The man and woman eyed one another cautiously, awkwardly. The Joker laughed. He stopped abruptly and paused to think about what he actually would have done had they not been there when he'd arrived. Whatever he would have done, he assured himself, it would have been both _very_ bloody and _very_ unpleasant. _For them at least_…

It was the woman's demanding gaze that snapped him out of his thoughts. Being interrupted from his thoughts was something that he absolutely hated! It was something that Harley did almost constantly when they were in the same room together.

The Joker lapsed into another wave of silence at the thought of Harley, oblivious to the woman's scowl of impatience. _Harley. She should be making fast progress. Even that bubble gum brain shouldn't be able to screw this up. I gave her addresses and everything. I hope she doesn't mix any of the numbers up; my sevens always did sort of look like nines…Ugh, if she kills one of their neighbors I am going to make _her_ eat one of those banana cream pies we've got lying around. Maybe I'll even add something special into it. Is Harley allergic to anything? I definitely recall her being allergic to something…I should know this…What kind of "Puddin'" am I? Now what was it? Strawberries? No…Something red though…Apples? No, no, it wasn't a fruit…Tomatoes? Are tomatoes fruit? Hmm…I should ask the Riddler…Anyway…What was I thinking about? Wait, what is that? What's that noise? Kind of a click-click sorta noise…Click, click, click…_

The woman had loudly resumed her tapping.

"Hello? Anyone home!?" The woman shouted loudly into the Joker's ear. The Joker jumped at the interruption, startling the woman so badly that she a shriek escaped his lips.

"Oh, my apologies! I suppose I just sort of zoned out, there! Well, where we? That's right, the children! I do trust that you've taken good care of them?"

"The best," the woman said sarcastically with a roll of her eyes. "Can we just move this along? I'm going to be late."

The Joker sidestepped the woman, rudely ignoring her once again, and stared wide-eyed at the stack of crates the man was leaning on. "Are those them?" He dramatically pointed his finger at the crates. "There must be so many of them! And to think that I was going to name them all…Well, I suppose I'll just have to name them all 'Joker Junior' to save myself time!"

The Joker approached one of the crates and pried it open. The container was filled to the brim with straw, and the Joker began throwing alternating handfuls of it over his shoulders, as he burrowed downwards to get the "prize-in-side", more ecstatic than a child on Christmas morning. It was not until straw was strewn all around him that he reached a neat row of cylindrical gas grenade canisters, each with a label that read 'Joker Approved!' that depicted a clown winking and giving a 'thumbs-up'.

The Joker greedily picked one up, turning it around in his hands before rubbing it against his face with satisfaction.

"Daddy has been waiting for you for so long," he whispered to the canister as he continued to cradle it. "I'll name you Joker Junior!" He then turned and eyed the remaining canisters in the crate. "And I'll name you Junior Joker, and you can be J.J., and you'll be…" The Joker continued down the line of gas grenades, naming each one with a point of his finger. The woman let out an exasperated sigh.

"Okay, you've got them. Now _I'm _leaving!" She proceeded towards the exit, the man following hesitantly after her.

"Wait! How does it work?" The Joker called after them, feigning ignorance as he thrust the canister out in front of him.

"Are you kidding?" The man called back to him from near the warehouse exit. "You just release the pin and throw it." The woman waited for the man with an impatient stomp of her heel. Sometimes she thought that she could have done better for herself in terms of a boyfriend.

"Oh! So I just release the pin," The Joker did just that. "And throw!" The Joker hurled the canister at them. The gas grenade landed short with a metallic bang on the floor, and rolled to a stop at the man and woman's feet. The two froze in panic and helplessly eyed the canister waiting for the gas to be released. Any second now, it would ensnare them in its deadly grasp. The Joker frowned and looked once again at his imaginary wristwatch, waiting for just that.

"Hmm. That one's defective," he muttered, a finger to his chin as he thought. "You know what, I take it back!" he declared loudly. "I think I'll rename that one _Harley_ Junior…"

"Are you crazy, you bastard!? You almost got us all killed!" The man yelled, his face still flushed from the near-death experience. The woman edged slowly towards the door, wanting desperately to leave, but hesitant to go alone.

"Let's go!" She yelled at the man, tugging him by the sleeve. She saw the murderous intentions in the Joker's eyes.

"Leaving so soon? But this was just getting fun!" The Joker hollered after them. He picked up two more canisters, one in each hand, and carelessly threw them towards the warehouse exit. The man and woman did not hesitate this time, they ran. The canisters hit the ground loudly and tumbled towards the man and woman, to land neatly in front of them. A purple haze of gas quickly clouded their vision as they attempted to reach the door. They could be hear it hissing loudly out of the canisters.

The woman grew light-headed. What was she doing here? Whatever she had been doing, it must have been funny. The woman chuckled. She tried to stop. Something was wrong; this moment wasn't supposed to be humorous. She can't laugh. She's _never_ actually laughed. She had to leave, escape this purple mist that was clogging her mind, consuming her. Her chuckles turned into full blown laughter.

She collapsed onto the floor on all fours. Tears rolled down her cheeks. It was hilarious. These were tears of joy. The whole situation was so funny. Her throat burned, it was closing up on her. She couldn't breathe from laughing. They were tears of pain, now, of involuntary asphyxiation. The laughter grew louder, overtaking her thoughts. It was overpowering. Drool spilled from her mouth onto the floor; she'd forgotten to swallow. She couldn't think of anything but this deadly laughter. Her head was splitting from pain. She felt as though this foreign smile on her face, this mouth opened wide, was so large that it was going to tear her face apart. She heard the man laughing beside her. All she could hear, think, feel, was this laughter. She attempted to crawl to the door, stopped by the intensifying nausea. She was bodiless, her mind by now very far away from this sickening sight. This wasn't happening. Not to her. How can it be? She is still so young.

Her laughter escalated into a high pitched explosion of hilarity. She wanted to scream as she felt one of her ribs break, but she could only laugh. She closed her hands around her throat. she felt it constrict, but she merely laughed it off. This is all much too funny. Bloody spittle streamed from the sides of her mouth. She just wanted it all to end. This was beyond torture, beyond suffering. The man was shaking her wildly by the shoulders now, and she could see the pleading in his eyes, the torment. His face is a contorted freak show, a disturbing amalgam of extreme happiness and inexpressible agony.

The purple haze had dissipated and been replaced by an even worse purple presence. She did not see him; she sensed him. Her heart swelled with anger. She wanted to kill him. She heard the disturbing bastard's laugh. And then she noticed her own laugh was is gone. Her mouth is open, the excruciating smile still present. The laugh should have been there. But there was nothing. She panicked; her throat was completely closed. Her vision clouded as tears swelled in her eyes. She couldn't breathe. The pain was unbearable. She fell face down on the floor, her legs writhing wildly as she convulsed. _Air._ It was the only thought in her mind. Her entire body was shaking frantically, desperate for oxygen, pleading with her to breathe, and save herself. But she was deaf to its pleas. She could not think. His laughter was now the only audible noise. The Joker's squeals of delight were the last thing she would ever hear as the darkness overtook her. The pain finally leaves. Her legs and fingers twitched sporadically, lending strength to the illusion that life was still in her. But she was gone.

The Joker wiped tears of laughter from his eyes at the sight of the limp corpses. He took a deep breath..

"Oh, that was great. And they were both _much_ better company that way."

The Joker nudged the girl with his foot. Even he could only think of her as beautiful; a slender body, full breasts, smooth, delicate legs. A disturbing thought crossed his mind regarding what to do with her body. He knew that he shouldn't, but then again, who would ever know? He moved to unzip his pants when a random fragile wisp of thought sailed through his diseased mind.

_Peppers_.

"Peppers," he whispered repeatedly. _That was what Harley was allergic to. That would surely make a terrible combination: banana pepper cream pie…_

The Joker pondered this as he departed the warehouse, leaving the woman's body untouched. He would get some of his lackeys to pick up the mess and move the crates to their new home when the time came. He had only come this last to time to ensure that _those_ two would be properly disposed of. He couldn't risk them spilling their guts to someone. After all, if you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself. Besides, he had gotten a laugh out of it.


End file.
